


Later

by spectre_tabris



Series: Canon(ish) Cassandra/Kyra One-Shots [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectre_tabris/pseuds/spectre_tabris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In retrospect, it is perhaps not the most strategically-sound plan Kyra Lavellan has ever devised, taking on a high dragon with no preparation and only Cassandra, Bull, and Sera for backup, but in her defense they handle themselves remarkably well at first."</p><p>Cassandra falls. Lavellan reacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Later

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know there aren’t actually any dragon fights with this kind of environmental set up. I don’t care. Pretend there are other dragons hanging around Thedas for the Inquisitor and companions to conveniently run across. Work with me here.
> 
> And yes, this is the same Lavellan from the hit me double hard universe, or at least her canon counterpart. It may have been written solely to cheer myself up after writing the last chapter of hmdh...

In retrospect, it is perhaps not the most strategically-sound plan Kyra Lavellan has ever devised, taking on a high dragon with no preparation and only Cassandra, Bull, and Sera for backup, but in her defense they handle themselves remarkably well at first. Kyra and Sera keep the dragon distracted with a constant barrage of spells and arrows while Cassandra and Bull harry its flanks in search of an opening, dodging sweeping claws and bursts of flame.

After an exhausting and seemingly endless stretch of minutes spent wearing away at the beast’s defenses and with Kyra’s lyrium stores running dangerously low, Cassandra takes advantage of a momentary lapse in the dragon’s attention due to a brutal blow by the Iron Bull. She grabs hold of one of the spines running the length of its body and hauls herself up onto its neck, her shield clattering to the ground behind her. Gouts of flame erupt from the dragon’s mouth as it takes notice of this newest irritant and though it tries to drag her off with teeth and claws it cannot quite reach her, tucked away as she is right at the join of its head and neck. She clamps her legs around its neck to hold herself in place and lets out a triumphant war cry as she drives her sword through the base of its skull and deep into its brain.

She is glorious in that moment, Kyra thinks, her face and armor flecked with blood both human and draconic, the sun glinting off the silverite of her breastplate and turning it a molten gold. Their eyes meet across the carnage of the battlefield, sparkling hazel to Breach-green, and twisting vines of desire uncoil in Kyra’s belly, twining up through her chest to wrap around her heart. She _wants_ , more than she has in her entire life: wants to launch herself at Cassandra and wind her hands into sweat-matted hair, taste the blood on her lips, feel the sharp edges of her armor dig into yielding skin.

But she should know better than to think that it could be that easy, that they could earn a victory without having to scratch and claw and sacrifice their way to it. Even in death the dragon is not done fighting and as it collapses to the ground, Cassandra still seated atop it, it seizes. Its head swings up, followed by the sinuous length of its neck, spine snapping with a sound like the cracking of a whip and Kyra watches in horror as Cassandra, her grip loosened by blood or exhaustion or Creators only know what, falls from her perch.

A shriek slices across the remnants of the battlefield, a piercing note of pure terror that it takes Kyra a long moment to recognize as her own, her breath catching in her throat as she watches the dragon toss Cassandra into the sky.

Through a stroke of luck - whether good or bad, Kyra is uncertain - Cassandra’s fall ends not with the sickening thud of a body impacting the hard ground but a splash as she hits the surface of the river. Kyra is moving even before the last of the resulting water droplets fall, abandoning her staff and empty lyrium bottles in favor of racing to the water’s edge.

Bull beats her there, however, and by the time she arrives he has pulled Cassandra’s limp form from the water and laid her out on the white rock that serves as the river bank. Kyra shoves him to one side, magic already crackling over her hands as she falls to her knees beside her lover. Cassandra isn’t breathing, still and cold beneath Kyra’s trembling fingers.

“No,” she breathes, the single word a litany, an invocation. She presses her hands to the cold metal of Cassandra’s breastplate, no longer golden-gleaming, and gathers up her magic. There is no finesse in the resulting flood of power, no delicacy. Magic courses through her palms into Cassandra’s chest and she directs it as best she can, healing cracked ribs and chasing river water from flooded lungs and urging them to _breathe_.

She can see no effect at first and panic drags more power through her, pulls prayers from her atheist’s tongue.

“Oh, Creators, no. Falon’din, do not take her from me; not now, not like this. Mythal, protect her. Maker, Andraste, whomever, I don’t care. Help me. _Please_.”

She is at the end of her magical reserves - the fight with the dragon had all but drained her and no amount of desperation can give her access to power that is not there - when there is a shudder beneath her hands. The last vestiges of magic slip from her, a trickle where there should have been a torrent, but as she lifts her hands away Cassandra coughs. It is hoarse and pained and at that moment Kyra has never heard anything more beautiful in her entire life.

Her relieved laugh comes out a sob and she presses her forehead to Cassandra’s shoulder as the Seeker leans to the side to cough the water from her lungs.

“Thank you,” Kyra whispers, though she is not certain to whom her words are directed. “ _Thank you_.”

Cassandra falls back onto her back, dislodging Kyra, her eyes closed but breath steady, and reaches up to wrap a gauntleted hand around the back of Kyra’s neck, dark curls catching in metal joints.

“Kyra?” she asks, her voice rough but Kyra doesn’t care - she is _alive_ , she is here and awake and alive and another sob escapes her as she pulls back enough to see Cassandra’s too-pale face, her hand moving from Cassandra’s chest to slide along her jaw.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers, all too aware of Bull and Sera lingering just feet away, watching them with concern. Cassandra’s eyes blink open and if Kyra had thought her stunning before it is nothing compared to now, tired and hurt but _alive_ . “I thought you were dead and I know you’re in pain and you probably taste like river water and Sera and Bull are right here and I don’t even care because I really, _really_ want to kiss you right now you have no idea and - _mmpf!_ ”

The press of a mouth to hers cuts off her rambling, cool lips and hot tongue and yes, the taste of river. Kyra promptly forgets what she was saying as she whines into the kiss, melting against Cassandra.

Their relationship is still young enough that kisses have not yet become commonplace, each touch of tongues or nip of teeth something new and precious. (Supposedly the newness and delight will fade with time but such a thing is incomprehensible to Kyra, especially at times like these with Cassandra’s arms tight around her and Cassandra’s mouth yielding beneath hers.)

She isn’t quite sure what to do with her hands - Cassandra is still fully armored and even now Kyra is not far enough gone to think that undressing in the middle of a battlefield feet away from the corpse of a high dragon is at all a good idea. (Though _later_ , definitely. Nakedness later sounds like a _brilliant_ idea. Possibly the greatest one she has ever had.) She winds up with one curled along the side of Cassandra’s neck, thumb tracing the sharp curve of her cheekbone, and the other twined with Cassandra’s against the chilled metal of her armor. Her world narrows to the hand twisted in her hair, the pulse beneath her fingers. She thinks she hears Bull or Sera laugh in the background but then Cassandra’s teeth catch on her lower lip and she forgets everything except getting her to do it again.

Time fades into a nebulous sort of concept, less important than the taste of the scar along Cassandra’s jaw or the press of her leg against Kyra’s own, but that does not keep it from passing. After what could have been minutes or hours or days (Kyra doesn’t know, doesn’t care, she is _exactly_ where she wants to be) Bull clears his throat too loudly to be ignored. Kyra pulls back with a sigh, the movement impeded by the grip Cassandra has on her hair, and opens her eyes. Cassandra’s lips are red and kiss-swollen, her cheeks flushed pink and Kyra has to duck her head to hide her smile. _She_ did that. That is because of _her_. The thought is as exhilarating as it is humbling. Cassandra releases her hair, her fingers trailing along the gentle curve of Kyra’s jaw as she pulls her hand away, the intimacy of the action sending a shiver along Kyra’s spine.

 _Later_ , she promises herself. _Later, after we are healed and alone..._

The thought allows her to pull her attention from where Cassandra lies beneath her (and oh, Creators, she needs to not think of it like that or, bad idea or no, she will never be able to convince herself to move) to their two friends, standing a few feet away with matching grins.

“Good to see you’re feeling better,” Bull begins before Sera cuts him off.

“But can you two wait until we’re _not_ all bleeding out before you start rolling around?” she demands, dancing from foot to foot as she eyes the corpse of the dragon as though expecting it to rise from the dead. Which is silly, Kyra decides - they left Dorian back at Skyhold. “‘Cause as pretty a picture as you two are, I’m tired and sore and did you know that dragon’s blood friggin’ _itches_?”

Cassandra pushes herself into a sitting position, catching Kyra with an arm tight around her waist before the shift can topple her from her perch across Cassandra’s lap (and when had that happened? She can’t quite remember, the previous moments a blur of hands and lips and tongues).

“There’s a river right there,” Bull says with a jerk of his thumb in the proper direction. “Seeker-tested and everything. Great for getting the blood off of you.”

There is a beat of silence as the other three process his words with varying degrees of disbelief. Kyra is the first to break, hysterical giggles that are more relief and adrenaline than amusement bursting out of her as she presses her face into the curve of Cassandra’s neck, though Sera’s groan of disgust and Cassandra’s quiet huff of laughter are not far behind.

“I love you,” Kyra murmurs into the chilled skin beneath her mouth as her giggles fade, just loud enough for Cassandra to hear. The events of the last half hour are finally beginning to process as the adrenaline fades out of her system. Her eyes droop and it is all she can do to keep from collapsing entirely against Cassandra. Cassandra cards a hand through Kyra’s curls and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“And I, you,” she returns just as quietly, a secret whispered into Kyra’s skin, before she urges Kyra off her to climb to her feet, wincing as the motion pulls at injured muscles Kyra had not had the strength to heal. She offers a hand to Kyra, who sighs with exhaustion before allowing herself to be helped up from the ground. Bull hands her abandoned staff to her while Sera passes Cassandra her sword and shield and as soon as they are all properly equipped once more the four of them stagger off in the direction of camp and healing, Kyra leaning heavily on her staff for support and Cassandra’s presence a comforting weight at her side.

 _Later_ , she reminds herself, and does not even try to hide her tired smile.


End file.
